Clara wiped her eyes, her face turning an even brighter shade of pink. Her thick mane of red curls billowed around her shoulders, and she brushed several strands away from her face. “Lord Michael.” She sniffed and pressed her back into the corner. “I did not think anyone would be around this late.”
“You would be correct, most nights. What are you doing here?” He opened the stall door and stepped inside, putting a soothing hand on Copper’s neck as he pulled the door closed.
She licked her lips and pressed harder against the wall, using it as a brace as she struggled to her feet. She gave a quick point at the door. “Pockets. When she did not return from the garden after supper, I went looking for her.”
“That must have been hours ago.”
She glanced down, her fingers fidgeting in her skirts. “I—had a row with my father after supper. I—I did not look for Pockets until late... when I realized she was not in my room.”
Michael moved closer to her, the urge to comfort her swamping him like a rogue wave. “Over Wykeham?”
She finally met his eyes. Hers were rimmed with red, salt lines streaking each cheek, her nose swollen. This woman had been crying for a good long time. She nodded.
“They want you to marry him.”
Another nod. More tears leaked from her eyes, and her entire body trembled. She weaved as if she were about to fall.
Michael could stand it no longer. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms. Clara seemed to collapse against him, the sobs bursting forth anew as she buried her face in his coat. His grip on her tightened as he willed his strength into her. Time seemed to still as he held her, kissed her temple, and stroked her hair. When the wave of grief seemed to ebb a bit, he whispered, “Let me help.”
She shook her head, even as she continued to press her face into his chest. “There is nothing you can do.” She took a deep breath, her body quivering with the effort. “Nothing anyone can do.”
He relaxed his hold on her, stroking her face as she leaned back to peer up at him. “Your father is determined?”
Clara nodded and swallowed hard. “He has—he has banned you from the house. You cannot see me again.”
Anger surged through Michael, a hot poker in his gut. The unfairness of it, before he even had a chance to try, seized him, and his throat tightened as he fought it. Not now. This was no time for his own anger. “Clara—”
“I tried to make him see. But he will not. All he can see is that title... and a burdensome daughter.”
This time the wave of anger shifted. “He thinks you are a burden?” Behind him, Copper shifted at the rough sound of his voice, and Clara flinched. Michael took her face in both hands. “You are not a burden,” he whispered. “You are the most extraordinary woman I have ever known.”
Her responding smile held a great sadness, and she touched his cheek. “If only you could—”
Michael kissed her. He had not intended to, but holding her, trying to comfort her, wanting to ease her grief had almost consumed him. He wanted to do more, to be closer. His lips pressed against hers, gentle at first, a move that surprised them both. Her eyes widened as they parted for a moment, then closed as he kissed her again, the first butterfly brush of his lips growing firmer, more determined. He tugged at her lower lip, and she whimpered, opening to him. He closed his arms around her again, pressing her tight against his chest as he explored her mouth, their tongues caressing with a fervor he had not expected from her but relished.
As the kiss ended, she leaned against him, and he held her as their breathing eased.
“You deserve better than Wykeham,” he whispered. “If not me, then someone who will cherish and desire the woman you are.”
She slipped away from him. “And what if I only want you?”
This time, the sensation that consumed him held more fire, more drive than any rage he had felt. “What if—what if I can prove myself? What if I could prove myself to your father?”
Clara shook her head. “I do not know if you can—”
“How long do I have?”
“Two months.” These words came without hesitation. “Two months. Wykeham will decide in two months if I am proved worthy of him.”
Another rush of anger began to crest. “He wantsyouto prove—”
“Two months is not a long time.”
Michael and Clara spun, Michael shoving her behind him. He stared at Robert, who had reached over the stall door to scratch Copper’s forehead. Michael glared at him. “What are you doing here?”
Robert grinned. “I went to your bedchamber to ask you a question, only to find that you had never returned. Somehow, I knew you would be with the horses. I did not expect the stall to contain quite a bit more than Copper.” He tilted his head. “Lady Clara Durham, I presume?”
Clara stepped from behind Michael, her chin up. “You would presume correctly. And I presume from your appearance, you are Lord Robert Ashton.”
